


Like Real People Do

by spdervrses



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spdervrses/pseuds/spdervrses
Summary: And it seems that a happy ending was never in the books for Loki and Ezra.
Relationships: Loki Laufeyson x Oc, Original Character - Relationship, Thor Odinon x Original Character, Thor Odinson x Oc
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Like Real People Do

His lips on hers feel like an unspoken sort of reverence. Long slender fingers graze her skin, the cool contrast of him against her warm skin evoking a shiver from her. It travels down her spine and causes every hair on her skin to stand erect. She’s never felt so attuned to her surroundings and muted all at once. His arms around her feel like her only tether to the world as he hovers over her, the familiar feeling of his weight eased onto her. She has no desire to defy him. If it were up to her, she would stay this way the entire day and allow him to lower kisses further down her abdomen. And Ezra Noavek has never been one to yield control.

Although it seems as though none of it matters. It never seems to wherever Loki is concerned. She has no idea where the son of Odin ends and where she begins. They are a mess of tangled limbs and laboured breaths. Her fingers work to undo the bun in which his dark hair is gathered, longing for the view of his over her, his hair fanned out around his face.

Loki’s free hand—the one that isn’t around her neck—moves underneath her garments, nimbly attempting to undo the tight hold of her corset. His fingers graze her bare skin, causing goosebumps to erupt on the surface of her skin. Ezra wants to feel him on every inch of skin. Nevertheless, she lets out a small gasp, detaching her lips from his to whisper against him. “You’re not going to take me to dinner first?”

He stops to gaze down at her, his piercing blue eyes drinking in every inch of her. Her heart tumbles over itself in her chest. Loki’s thin lips curl into a mischievous smile that lights up his eyes and morphs his features. “Believe me, darling, I intend to give you everything that I have.” His words can be interpreted in several different ways, but his tone is sombre and it’s clear to her that he’s being entirely sincere.

Instead of answering, she covers his lips with her and rotates her body so that he has an easier time undoing the corset. His fingers, long and nimble as they are, work quickly. In a matter of seconds, her tight dress is discarded along with the restricting corset. They grace the floor of his chambers.

Soon, she’s lying on his bed, completely bare with him, his trousers long castoff. He stops, hovering over her for a moment. His hands grab a hold of hers and hold them in his grip over her head, his lips mere inches from hers.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs into her skin.

The word should not evoke such a strong reaction from her, seeing as he calls her beautiful every time that they lay together in his chambers. At some point, one would think that Ezra would be used to hearing it but every time, without fail, her cheeks burn up — she’s grateful that there’s no possible way to tell it from looking at her — and her body doesn’t seem to know how to react.

He doesn’t give her a chance to.

Loki is kissing her, tender at first before his lips on hers progressively become more insisting and passionate. He takes her swollen lips between his teeth and her response is immediate. Her body curls and a low moan erupts from the pits of her stomach. He kisses her again finally before tracing her jawline with his lips, lining her skin with kisses along the way. Loki stops at her neck, focusing on the spot that dips into her breasts, sucking on the tender skin of it.

There’s an abrupt rapping at the doors. Loki stops suddenly, still hovering above her. He waits for a second and groans softly into the air. The knock comes again.

“Loki.”

He stops and gazes down at her, his lips set in a soft pout as he rolls off of her body. “If we pretend as if we’re not here, they might go away.” Loki pauses, his eyes trained on her face expectantly, waiting for a reaction from whoever is outside the door. Another rapt knock. His face falls immediately, and he exhales impatiently through his lips before kissing hers softly.

Ezra wraps the thin sheets around her slender figure, sinking down into the bed in an attempt to hide herself. From his viewpoint, there is nothing but tangled sheets on the bed. He stops to fix the buckle of his trousers, before he takes a hold of the doorknob and yanks it open. She can’t see whoever is at the door from where she lays. Loki’s body is obstructing the small crack so that whoever it is cannot see into it as well.

He does nothing to mask his annoyance when he speaks. “How may I help you, brother?”

There’s a pause and then the crowned prince’s voice carries through the air. There’s a hint of laughter in his tone as he takes in his brother. “It’s not I who needs you. Father does.”

“Whatever it is can wait.” He attempts to slam the door shut in front of him to no avail.

“Actually, it can’t.” He lowers his voice and peaks into the room over his brother’s head. From where she lays, Ezra can see the two of them in the doorway. Their profiles illuminated by the light peeking in from behind the doors. They are polar opposites, different in every way imaginable. Where Loki is lean and slender, his brother is stocky and large, the type of frame that draws attention to him no matter what room he walks into. Loki is darkness to his brother’s light, beyond the stark difference in the shades of their locks and the manner in which they dress. Thor is free and giving with smiles, laughter not far from his lips. Loki, on the other hand, seems to save his few smiles for her, his demeanour more stoic and observant than his brother. He is sly wisdom where his brother is brute strength and tactless disposition.

“We have guests to entertain,” Thor whispers to his brother, his voice low. Despite their differences, the thoughtful expression on the faces are nearly identical. “Again?” Loki voices.

“What about the house that he met just the other week. What was their name? Al — Alan — Aldove?” _House_ _Aldrich_ , his brother mirrors. “What happened to them? I thought father had decided on Guinevere.”

“He had,” he pauses. “Until we realized that she’s infertile and that defeats the purpose of this entire thing, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Loki’s next words are loud and thunderous, his usual flair and theatrics easily noted. “To find the crowned prince a wife so that he may continue the glorious bloodline and secure the future of the kingdom.” He lowers his voice.

“It’s all a bunch of bullshit, if you ask me.” His next words are carefully measured. “This war. He’s going about it all wrong. Using brute force to persuade nations to bend to his will whereas all he needs is a guiding hand. And this united strong front that he’s attempting to portray can be done without having to sell his son out to the family with the most influence like a cheap whore.”

“I’m not a—” his words punctuated by a short release of air. “I’m not cheap.”

Loki raises his brow at him. “But what does it matter what I think? I’m not the one who has to get married to a woman that I don’t love just to aid and abet in another useless war.”

There is silence for far too long and the two seem to be deep in thought and somehow communicate without uttering a single word. The moment passes and Thor states in a note of finality. “You’re right. You’re not the one who has to get married, but you do have to show up before our guests arrive.” Thor turns to leave, his back turned to them and then he seems to suddenly decide against it, turning to his brother once more. “And say hello to your bedmate for me.”

Although he has no way of seeing her, Ezra burns underneath the sheets, her ears growing warm. She has no reason to feel as embarrassed as she does. When she pulls the blankets down from over her face, she finds Loki grinning at her, humour written all over his pale features. “Hello bedmate,” he echoes at her as he lowers himself onto the bed at her side.

Her expression is unamused. “That’s not funny.”

He is all bright eyes and snow-white teeth as he beams at her. “It’s a little amusing.”

“Not at all.”

He responds by pressing his lips against hers and swiping his tongue against her lips. He pulls back and grins at her. “Just a little.”

“Fuck you.” His grin is wolfish as he slides his arm around her. Ezra doesn’t give him the chance to finish whatever perverse thought is on his mind. “Don’t say it. Don’t.”

“What was that all about anyway?”

He kisses her cheek softly, turning his face so that his nose is mere breaths away from her. “My father and his dysfunctional ideals on family and victory. Must we talk about it?” He seems intent on picking up where they left off, his skin on her skin, his lips kissing her naked body and yet Ezra cannot push a nagging thought from her mind.

“How do you know that it won’t be you next?” Loki makes a small inquisitive noise against her skin. “How do you know that once he’s found a wife for Thor, you won’t be the one he’s attempting to wed off to some stranger?”

The very thought causes a lump to form in her throat and it tastes bitter on her tongue. The very thought of Loki, her Loki and she has begun to think of him as hers—belonging to somebody else unsettles her.

At her words, Loki pushes away, his lips leaving hers. Instead, he heaves her body onto his so that she’s resting on his chest and his fingers run down the side of her arm while his other hand is wound tightly around her waist.

“He doesn’t care about me. I’ll never be an important enough piece in whatever game he’s playing for that to ever happen.” There’s a note of bitterness in his words. “Besides, my love, I would never let that happen.”

She scoffs. His words, sweet as they are, do little to reassure her. No matter how much autonomy they think they might have, it will never be enough. “And suppose, I was the one being married off to some stranger to become his wife.”

Her lover goes silent underneath her, his body strangely still as he seems to think. “I think I would kill him,” he mutters to her, his face void of expression. Ezra cocks her head to the side at him. “I’m serious. I would kill him, and we could run away together. Go somewhere that nobody knows us. One of the nine realms, perhaps Alfheim.”

She hums along with him. “Or Midgard. I’ve heard good things about it.”

“Wherever you want, my darling. It doesn’t matter. We’d be together and we’d be happy. I would spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

They come to the conclusion that as long as they are together. Regardless of what the gods may throw at them, they’ll be happy. But the fates are a tricky thing and a happy ending was never in the scripts for them.

* * *

“We have an invitation to the palace.”

At the thought of the palace, her heart speeds up in her chest, an unsteady thump against its walls. The palace where she spends a considerable amount of time slinking into strange rooms and hiding in the shadows. The palace where she’s lain underneath the prince several times without anyone else’s knowledge. She’s all too familiar with the palace.

Ezra forces herself to keep her expression blank as she takes a piece of silk in her hands and folds them over, paying close attention to the crease that forms in the center. “For all of us? Why have we been invited?” _And since when have they needed an invitation_? As a child, she’s running through the endless halls of the walls of the Allfather’s home and she’d never once needed a reason. As her father belonged to Odin’s inner court, she found herself spending time there. These days, the opportunity to be there without sneaking around didn’t present itself often. Formal invitations from the Allfather presented themselves even rarely. 

“There’s some sort of ceremony happening, and we’re invited. Better not to question it.”

When Ezra dares to look her mother in the eyes, she wears a small smirk as if she’s holding onto some sort of secret. Her dark eyes—identical to Ezra’s in shape and colour only—glints darkly and she has no doubt that her mother has something planned. Rarely does she ever not. Her mother is what can be described as a climber, determined to rise above her ranks by any means necessary. Her mother had been born a simple miller’s daughter into a simple life, albeit full of toil. Such a union, between the daughter of a miller and a soldier in the king’s army—and much later, a member of the king’s court—was rare even in Asgard. But her mother was known for making the impossible happen.

It seems that she’s long resigned herself to the fact that she, herself, will never be able to raise her ranks by herself and had turned her efforts towards her daughter. It goes the same way every time, not-so-subtle setups with important men and women that she believes will be a good match for her daughter—in status only, never personality wise. And it ends the same way every time, in disaster.

Ezra has no doubt that her mother has similar plans for this invitation. If only she knew that she was in love with somebody else. Ezra thinks her mother might truly die if she found out about her affair with Loki. What higher ranks is there than a prince? But she doesn’t intend on sharing him with her anytime soon. Her mother has a distinct way of tainting everything pure and beautiful. And this thing with Loki—whatever it is—is the most beautiful thing in her life. She doesn’t intend on letting her near it anytime soon.

* * *

The palace is strangely empty. As empty as the home of a sovereign can be but it lacks the same drone of conversation and large crowds that a ceremony usually entails. In fact, besides the help, the palace is nearly completely empty. She feels the ghosts of life at each corner that she turns, and it leaves a cool shiver running down her spine.

Ezra is familiar with some of the help, the result of a lifetime spent running through these halls. Usually she can get a friendly smile out of even the most serious of guards but today they regard her with a stony emotionless expression, or they do not regard her at all. The guards flanking each side of the throne room gates stare ahead and avoid her gaze as it is pushed open.

This all feels eerie.

She feels overdressed the moment that she steps into the room. Her thick head of curls is pulled tightly into a bun in the back of her head and on her body is a thin material of satin and that emphasizes her lithe figure and moves with her, shifting and shimmering against her dark skin with each step. It had all felt too much when her mother laid it out for her, but Ezra had figured that Loki would be at the palace and suddenly, she didn’t mind it all so much. Her face is painted and adorned to perfection with her mother’s most special concoction.

Her mother had applied it herself as she’d looked at her in the mirror. Her mother had stopped suddenly to stand behind her, both of her hands resting on both sides of Ezra’s shoulder. She’d looked at her with a strange determination and whispered, “You will make me proud.” Ezra had not bothered asking for a deeper explanation. She’s beginning to wonder if she should have.

The entire room goes silent as she steps in. Every pair of eyes finds it ways onto her face, and they stay there. It’s much quieter than she’d expected, and it feels wrong from the very first moment. Too empty, too quiet, too serious. She feels as if she’s been invited to a funeral and she’s unsure whether it’s her own.

But such thoughts have no room in her mind when her eyes find Loki’s. Her heart becomes a child playing hopscotch in her chest and it’s difficult to remind herself to remain neutral. He doesn’t seem to put much effort into it. His lips are parted slightly and his cruel mouth curls into a smile, his eyes wide and insisting. He follows her every move as if she’s the moon and he is the stars, winking and shining just for her.

It takes all of the fight in her to tear her eyes away from him and towards the seat at the end of the room that is clearly saved for her. It feels wrong the moment she sits in it. It is too large and too comfortable and too extravagant to possibly be for her. But nobody protests when she sits in it. And it is beside Thor’s. The crowned prince doesn’t so much as spare a glance at her.

The king, however, can’t look away from her. He wears a pleased smile as he looks her over. A small nod.

“Excellent.” That, too, feels wrong. “We may skip the formalities this time. The house of Noavek are no strangers to us.”

_This time?_

When her eyes find Loki’s, they rest on hers unflinching. He wears his confusion visibly on his face and his brows are furrowed at her. It seems that he, too has no clue what is going on here.

Ezra can’t seem to focus on the words that the Allfather utters no matter how hard she tries. There is a knot in the pit of her stomach that attaches itself to her navel and twists and twists. It is tight inside of her, and it seems to warn her. Something here is not wrong. Something is out of place. She can’t quite put her finger on it but something about this situation is strange.

Thor still won’t look at her. And she’s unsure why. They were friends much earlier than her and Loki. When they were just children and he was a head and several years ahead of her and she’d climbed onto his back and he’d send them running down the halls of his home while her father was in one of his hour-long meetings with his father. Even before she’d ever taken note of the dark-haired prince who seemed to take more joy in being by himself.

But now he won’t look at her.

And Odin is saying something about the heritage and history of Asgard and how important it is that that it is preserved.

“— this union will be a event that will be carved into the history of Asgard.”

Ezra feels so very hot. She shifts in her chair. This is all very wrong. _This union_. She understands suddenly why this all feels so wrong. This union. Thor at her side. Loki’s words echo in her mind. _To find the crowned prince a wife so that he may continue the glorious bloodline and secure the future of the kingdom._

A wife.

Her.

Her mother’s words. _You will make me proud._

The air in her lungs seem to turn against her, clawing its way up her throat. She’s always known that her mother would try to arrange a marriage for her, but Ezra had imagined that at that point, she would have accepted one of Loki’s proposals and her mother would have no choice but to go along with it. But there’s no way that her mother would willingly settle for her marrying a prince when a future king is on the table. And what would she do? Simply say no? How does one turn down a king?

She doesn’t imagine that she’ll get much of a choice in this. It seems that this has been arranged long before she ever had a choice.

Her eyes meet Loki and she feels it all come apart at the seams. It seems that he is making the realization just as she is. His hands grip the sides of his throne, his dark features contorted into horror. He doesn’t bother to hide his gaze as she usually might. They don’t need many words, they never have. It’s a feeling of pure horror between them. This will be their destruction.

“Your daughter will make a suitable wife for my son,” Odin is saying to her mother.

For my son. Not for Loki, though.

“No,” she cries out. The word feels as if it is yanked out from her. She repeats it much more quietly now. “No, I can’t. I can’t.”

“Ezra.” Her name feels like a threat from her mother.

She suddenly feels too hot, too trapped in this room. She stands and turns around, facing towards Thor, his mother and father flanking either side of them. Her seat at Thor’s side. She imagines she’ll be expected to be at his side from now on. Doomed to play the doting supportive wife, a pawn in some war that she wants no part in.

Thor’s eyes are wide as he stares at her. He looks afraid.

Ezra shakes her head again. “I can’t. I’m so sorry. I can’t.” She exhales a trembling breath. “I can’t be your wife.”

“You can and you will. Sit down, Ezra.”

On the far right, is Loki.

She’s never considered their story a fairytale. No, they are far too messy and imperfect for fairytales. Fairytales are not years of knowing each other without making a single connection before finally being drawn together by some inevitable force. Fairytales are not her crying into his shirt after her father’s death and him being too stunned and overwhelmed to do much besides hold her. They are not fights that turn into confessions of love. They are secret affairs and a dozen turned down marriage proposals, for the need of more time. They are imperfect and perhaps broken but that has always been what they are.

Loki has always been her great love story.

“Sit down, Ezra.”

But all stories weren’t meant to last forever.

She watches the rest of the proceedings from Thor’s side and it feels as if she is out of her body. She doesn’t risk looking at Loki for fear that she truly will break down.

Her dark eyes are glassy with tears.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if people read things with original characters on this app anymore but I had this idea so. And this isn't a poly fic bc they're brothers and that would be weird. And it is a series.


End file.
